


the five rule

by princessizzy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: I was feeling sad so I wrote this, It sucks?, M/M, This is so dumb it's just sad, don't cry, okay, sorry - Freeform, try not to cry, uh, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:05:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessizzy/pseuds/princessizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>liam told zayn never to count above five, so now zayn is afraid to</p>
            </blockquote>





	the five rule

**Author's Note:**

> lmao sorry

Zayn sighs. It’s 4 am, and the sun is still tucked neatly below the horizon as he puts on his jacket and pulls the heavy wooden door shut behind him. He shivers suddenly against the cold breeze that blows past. The streets are as empty as his mind, and he wants more than anything to turn around, run back inside, and huddle under his favorite blanket, but he knows he can’t. He knows that at 4:30 am he has to be at his destination, flowers in hand. He inhales sharply, the cold air piercing his lungs as he lets it in. Zayn starts walking then, kicking his feet against the loose tar as he makes his way down the street in front of his house. His hair is wet, clinging to his head like it may fall off, and he’s cursing himself for having bathed before leaving, making him colder than ever. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and he reaches up to fix them, but even when they’re in place they feel wrong. Stopping, he takes a moment to actually think. Everything feels wrong, he realizes. His pants are an inch too short, his hair too wet, his jacket too big; the flowers in his left hand feel heavier than he thinks they should, and for a moment Zayn thinks he might be carrying bricks. Everything feels ridiculous. He wants to laugh, wants to make a joke out of his discomfort. That’s what Liam always says to do, of course. “ _You’ve got to learn to laugh at yourself, Z,”_ Zayn can hear Liam’s voice clearly. He blushes at the thought of Liam, at the thought of the boy he loves so much. Looking down, he kicks at the road again, the little rocks and piles of dirt flying around. He checks his watch. He needs to keep walking, needs to stay focused, but it’s getting harder to even comprehend just what he’s doing.

Zayn sighs. It’s 4:15 am, and the ring on Zayn’s left hand cuts against his skin. As he walks down streets lined with houses, he makes up stories for each one. The blue one with the white shutters holds a family of four, and he’s sure the parents are asleep, but he imagines that the two kids are whispering secrets to each other. The little cottage is surely owned by an old woman who is playing piano for herself, practicing before anyone is awake to hear. He counts the lamp posts as he makes his way. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5. He can barely focus, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, but Zayn knows he has to stay awake. He’s almost there. This is all familiar, every house, every road. He’s counted every lamp post a million times, but he can never get past five. Liam would tell him that lamp posts aren’t that important anyway. Who needs artificial light when Zayn is so radiant? He chuckles at the thought, enjoying the moment of happiness on this drawn out trek. Rounding a corner, he hears the barking of a dog, the noise slicing through the silence and causing Zayn to nearly drop the flowers, but thankfully he tightens his grip on them instead. Once he calms down, he revels at the existence of something new on this recognizable route. His mind jumps to the German Shepard at home, the one Liam picked out. Zayn used to love that dog, used to take it for walks three times a day and give it copious amounts of treats, even though Liam always yelled at him for it. Making that dog happy made Liam happy, Zayn knew, and Zayn only ever wanted Liam to be happy.

Zayn sighs. It’s 4:23 am, and his feet are acting of their own accord at this point. After a few more moments, he sees it. The sight of his destination makes his stomach drop, but he keeps moving. Zayn feels something equal to being punched in the gut, and he lets out a small yelp. He doesn’t want to be here, he finally admits to himself. He doesn’t want to remember. Does that make him a bad person? He figures it does, but he doesn’t care anymore. There are scenes flashing through his head: Liam’s smile, the lamp posts, that stupid German Shepard. Others join them, mingling in and messing up Zayn’s train of thought: a boat, a life vest, a loud horn. There are tears, but he pushes them away, both physically and mentally. Zayn tries to concentrate on just walking, just making his way forward, but the cold air is whispering to him. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to be here. This is all too familiar and, yet, Zayn’s not sure he really recognizes it. There’s a creak of a gate, and he realizes he has to accept it now. He’s counting the bouquets on the ground. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5. He’s never gone past five, because going past five was something he never did with Liam. He starts again. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5. Another set of five line the ground, then another, then another, and then another. He can see his date in the distance, sure that it’s there on time, waiting for him, just like always. Just like every year.

Zayn sighs. It’s 4:30 am, and he’s standing over a grave that he thinks has been dug prematurely. The headstone reads  _Brother, Husband, Son_ , but Zayn ignores it completely and instead thinks  _this is the wrong person_. He doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to be remembering that night five years ago when they were out on the boat and it started storming. Doesn’t want to remember how Liam fell overboard and called out for Zayn. He doesn’t want to think about how he panicked, not sure if he would make it to Liam since he never learned to swim. He doesn’t want to remember haphazardly throwing on a life vest and jumping into the water. Doesn’t want to remember the loud horn of another ship in the distance as he saw Liam’s head go under. He doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t. But he promises that he will, promises that he has to. It’s his fault that the love of his life died. It’s his fault that the dog slugs around the house now, sad and confused, waiting for walks and treats. Zayn should be the one in the ground, he’s sure of it. He feels the punch in the stomach again, and this time he can’t control it. He doubles over, his head almost hitting his knees as he drops the flowers on Liam’s grave. There are too many tears and his glasses fall off, but he doesn’t care. It’s four thirty am and this is the exact time the horn blared. Zayn tries to speak to the universe, tells it to make him and Liam trade places. He’ll die for him to live. He winces, and the tears keep coming. He finally accepts it and sits down, reaching out to gently slide his hand down the headstone. His bouquet is the only one on the grave now, but he knows that there will be too many to count by the end of the day. He lays down on his side, his head facing the stone, and he cries some more. He tries to get it all out. He misses Liam more than anything; he does. He would give anything to have him back. Zayn stays there, weeping. He falls asleep to his own tears and the thought of seeing Liam again one day.

Zayn sighs. It’s 7 am, and he’s been woken by someone else entering the graveyard. “Y’okay?” they ask, but Zayn can’t hear them. He looks at the grave. Four bouquets now. More people have been here, have seen him, but they let him rest. Everyone knows how broken Zayn is, how torn apart he is inside. They let him grieve. He looks up at the stranger and manages to nod, which gets them off his back. He stands up, looks down at the headstone, and rubs his eyes. He puts back on his glasses. His surroundings are back in focus, and he wishes his mind would refocus too. He wants to forget. He spends a few more seconds looking at the grave, then he leaves. He stumbles home, his mind as full and crowded as the streets he walks. He counts the lamp posts. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5.  _“Not worth it to count over five, y’know?”_  he hears Liam’s voice, and he shakes his head, trying to make it go away.  _“Five is how many you can count on one hand. After five, it doesn’t matter anymore, no one cares. Five is the perfect number.”_  Zayn wants to cover his ears and scream. He wishes he could forget Liam’s voice. He wishes he could turn time back a year so that next year wasn’t six years since Liam’s death. He’s afraid he’ll forget him. He’s afraid Liam won’t matter anymore.  _After five, it doesn’t matter anymore, no one cares._ This is different, he assures himself. Everyone cares about Liam, and they always will. This is the exception to the five rule.

Zayn sighs. It’s 7:21 am, and he’s home. He closes the door and locks it, finding his favorite blanket and throwing it over his head. The dog barks in the background, but he can’t hear him. He’s counting  _1... 2... 3... 4... 5. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5. 1..._  When he feels himself on the very edge of sleep, he counts to six. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. He knows when he wakes up, it will be a new day. He’ll sleep through this one and will wake up to tomorrow. He’ll put on a face and act okay. No one will care. No one will give him knowing looks. It will all be normal. Liam will only exist in his mind, only cause him grief through a thought. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6. Zayn falls asleep, and nothing matters anymore but the sharp throbbing pain in his heart.


End file.
